Silver and Cold
by Seph Meadowes
Summary: -no kiss, no gentle word, could wake me from this slumber- Cedric/Hermione. Complete.


_A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by  
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees  
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,  
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky -  
I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie  
Sleepless..._  
-**William Wordsworth, "To Sleep"**

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The meadow is filled with numerous wild flowers, varying shades of purple, pink, yellow and blue that sprout from the soft green grass. The sunlight is partially blocked by the canopies of trees, allowing just the smallest rays to escape and illuminate them. It's quiet except for the sound of the wind and the chirping of birds. It might be cold but she doesn't really notice. She only feels the wind blow against her face, swaying the wildflowers and tree branches as the birds happily sing away.

She feels completely relaxed, lying there on the ground, just listening to the sound of nature and just not…thinking. Because that's what she really does all the time, think, think, think, until it makes her head hurt and yet she continues to push for the right answer, for the right solution, even for the right problem.

But there in the meadow, she doesn't think, just feels. Her eyes closed as the grass tickles her toes and her fingers pull on the soft material of her jumper.

The yawn she hears reminds her that she isn't alone. The boy – _man _lays beside her on the grass, eyes closed and relaxing just the same as her. He tries to fight off sleep but it's a losing battle as their proximity lets her notice his breaths slow and it won't be long till he descends into the abyss of slumber.

She's falling asleep too and she doesn't really want to talk but her mouth moves anyway, lazily. "Cedric…" His name sluggishly comes out in droned on syllables that reverberate in the meadow, cutting into the sounds of the birds and the wind.

He doesn't respond at first and she thinks he's already asleep because he's lying so still, the only sign of movement is the steady rising and falling of his chest. A heartbeat passed, and then another. "Yes?"

"What are we doing here?"

"Waiting…"

_For what?_ The question rings in her head, echoing all the confusion she was feeling only to get clouded again with the emptiness that quickly invades her mind. She never asks it aloud.

* * *

The walls of the hospital room are white and so are the floors and the bed sheets. The brunette looks washed out against it all, her skin having gone pale from the weeks of being exposed to only artificial light blended in almost perfectly with the color scheme, her honey curls standing out like a dark stain all over the sea of purity.

Harry observes her from the chair beside the bed, his foot has gone numb from doing nothing but sit for a long period of time giving him that pins and needles feeling as he taps it on the floor to get feeling back. He doesn't get up from his seat.

He continues to stare at the girl who's been the closest thing he has to a sister. Some part of him, the more intelligent side that she used to tell him he enjoyed ignoring too much, is nagging him that he should leave. That he should go home to his wife and not waste his days away watching a girl sleep.

Asleep, like that Muggle fairytale about the princess that pricked her finger on a spinning wheel. He likes to think that she'll wake up with just a kiss from the prince. That she'll open those chocolate brown eyes he's been aching to look into once more. She didn't. Not yet.

He leaves at exactly one o'clock and he kisses her on her forehead before he goes, hoping with some unrealistic hope that it would work. It doesn't. Not yet.

* * *

Time doesn't really seem to exist in the meadow, the sky is constantly blue, the grass is always green and the birds keep singing.

Not that there is any way to learn of the time at all, there weren't any clocks around and neither he nor Hermione have a watch with them. He supposed it doesn't matter. Not in this place.

He's contemplates this as he lies on the grass with Hermione, on the fringes of falling asleep but he's mind is buzzing with unnecessary thoughts that keep him awake. Hermione's lying a lot closer to him than she usually does, her shoulder bumps against his and her hands are almost touching his that he can feel the warmth of her skin through her clothes. He finds it nice and his hand moves to clasp with hers.

His hand dwarfs hers easily and her fingers moves to intertwine with his wordlessly. He watches as she does so, her eyes closed and utterly calm like it was something she does all the time. He wants to say something but he struggles with the words and he doesn't bother. He just tries to be content with lying there as Hermione moves even closer to him.

He doesn't really know for sure what they were doing there. He just knows he's been waiting, waiting for the longest time. He's been waiting ever since that night…that night after…

He can't really recall; his memories seem to fade more and more the longer he is there. All that is left are blurry images, distorted bits that fail to make sense anymore. He remembers a graveyard, a young boy, a snake-like man that sent fear down his spine and a bright green light.

He doesn't remember or even know what those things mean but he supposes they weren't anything important. Not anymore at least.

He feels the brunette beside him fall asleep as her breath deepens and she rests her head on his chest, her other hand, the one not holding his, circles his waist, hugging him to her like a pillow.

She murmurs something inaudible and it could've been his name or something else entirely. And he releases a yawn and joins her in slumber.

He doesn't care. Not at the moment.

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**Cedric/Hermione one first place in my poll and so here it is. I don't really know what to think about this was inspired by an earlier story of mine.**


End file.
